


Wake Me

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bell being worried, Clarke dreaming about Bell, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Just silliness really, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy’s not sure there’s a better feeling in the world than knowing Clarke Griffin thinks about him in her dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from the lovely song by Bleachers that always makes me think of these two fools.

_Right from the start I knew_  
 _You'd set a fire in me_  
 _And I'd rather be sad with you_  
 _Than anywhere away from you_

~~~~~~~~~

“Bellamy.”

The first call of his name is so soft that he would have missed it had he been fast asleep. But Bellamy doesn’t truly sleep, not anymore. Nowadays sleep consists of one eye cracked open and a hand on his gun at all times, especially when he’s lying on a cave floor with Clarke just a few feet away.

It’s her who murmurs his name in that quiet whisper. He immediately rolls to his back to check on her. Her eyes are closed and there’s nothing on her features to suggest she’s in pain. The bandage on her arm, hastily tied as it is, shows no sign of fresh blood. 

But then she shudders slightly, a quick jerk of her body that tells him she’s dreaming. He’s by her side instantly.

The nightmares always come without warning. Lately, she’s been better, but Bellamy knows better than most how unpredictable guilt can be.

He’s reaching out to shake her awake when she says his name again. “Bellamy.” This time it’s a sigh, a quiet plea tinged with the slightest bit of desperation, and he grabs her shoulders.

“Clarke,” he cradles her face gently. “Come on, wake up. It’s okay. Wake up, Clarke.”

Her eyes flutter open, cloudy and unfocused until they land on him. Then her hand comes to his chest, fingers splayed directly over his heart. Clarke smiles, sweet and happy and utterly at peace. He’s nearly knocked over by the force of it.

“Hi,” she says, and Bellamy can’t move at all because he’s never heard her say hi like that. Like all she needed was to see his face.

The unexpectedness of the moment freezes him in place, still hovering over her.

“Are you okay?” 

Bellamy immediately regrets the words when Clarke’s smile vanishes. He wants it back that instant. But now she’s blinking and half-rising from the floor, her eyes darting around their surroundings. The awareness seeps back into her face as she remembers how they got here.

A simple trip for supplies that turned into an ambush. Arrows flying, bullets spraying. Then running, only running for a long time, until the rain began in earnest and the footsteps lessened behind them. The tear in her arm and the burn in his side are the latest souvenirs that made them stop to rest as the sun descended. In the end, the only option had been to wait out the night.

Now Clarke sits up suddenly, nearly knocking their heads together in the process. Her hand retreats from his chest, leaving the spot suddenly cold as she draws away from him altogether, her back pressed against the wall.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

The switch in emotions is so quick it takes a moment for Bellamy to catch up. He wants to reach out again, to pull her close and hold her, but it’s obvious that isn’t what she wants. So he settles for sitting next to her, shoulder to shoulder. But he still wants her to speak, if only to help him figure out what just happened.

“No need to apologize.” He pauses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Her voice is very small and she’s intently studying a rip in her jeans. He tries again.

“Sometimes it helps-”

“I said no,” she repeats sharply. There’s an edge to her voice that most people would take as a sign to back away. But Bellamy is not most people. So he says the one thing he hopes will prevent her from closing herself off.

“You were saying my name.” 

Clarke’s entire body goes still. Her head is still lowered when she finally says, “No I wasn’t.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up. Of all things, he did not expect a denial. He’s now more determined than ever to discover what’s at the source of her discomfort.

“Sure," he drawls slowly. "Because a lot of things sound like Bellamy."

She recoils. It’s just the barest movement of her shoulder away from his, but it happens. He’s so surprised that it leaves him speechless for a long minute.

It’s then that he realizes she’s blushing. Not the lovely pink tinge that coats her cheeks whenever he throws her a smile or joke or tugs her messy ponytail, but a vivid crimson that spreads up her neck and throughout her face nearly to her hairline. Her head is still ducked, but the curtain of blonde hair does nothing to hide the flush. In fact, the contrast only makes it stand out further.

Bellamy can’t stop staring, and he doesn’t try to. His mind wanders back to right before she woke up, when she’d said his name in that plaintive breath, more like a sigh than anything else. A spark shoots down his spine directly to his groin as he relives the moment in his head. Then there was the look on her face when she’d first opened her eyes, the look that said there was nothing more she wanted in that moment than him.

_No way._

Bellamy isn’t sure why he fights the realization as much as he does. Now that he recognizes the signs, it’s obvious what was happening. And yet, it’s still somewhat difficult for him to come to terms with the idea of Clarke feeling any of those things about him. 

But it’s impossible to deny as he continues to look at her, at the tense line of her shoulders, the whiteness of her knuckles as she clenches her hand, the way she’s carefully and deliberately keeping room between their bodies. Her silence says everything that she cannot.

Something warm and gleeful begins in his chest and spreads in all directions, bringing a smile to his face. 

“Clarke,” he asks quietly, “were you dreaming about me?”

There’s no reply, just her eyes drifting shut in defeat. He shifts closer until the right side of his body is lined flush against her left, rewarded by her sharp intake of breath.

“Clarke-”

“You can make fun of me later,” she cuts in miserably. “Just… please go away now.”

She refuses to open her eyes, so she doesn’t see how Bellamy has to fight another smile at her words. Only Clarke would think he was about to tease her after the revelation he just had. His wonderful, brilliant princess can negotiate with Grounders and stand up to the Chancellor without batting an eyelid, but here she is curled into a ball out of sheer embarrassment because she got caught in a moment of selfishness.

Selfishness that involved _him._

Bellamy’s not sure there’s a better feeling in the world than knowing Clarke Griffin thinks about him in her dreams.

He brings his mouth close to her ear, lingering for an extra moment to watch the hair rise on her neck as she registers his breath on her skin.

“What if I don’t want to go?” He whispers, letting his mouth brush against her earlobe with every word.

There’s still no answer, but he watches her throat bob as she swallows uncertainly. His tongue darts out to lick the shell of her ear.

A shudder runs through her frame, and when he looks up Clarke’s lips are parted in a quiet sigh. His hand lifts to trace the shape of them, and when the pad of his fingertip touches her mouth, her blue eyes spring open and lock onto his.

Bellamy doesn’t move; if and when he does, it will be closer and not further away. It takes all he has not to close the gap right then. Clarke’s eyes search him for any hint of falseness or teasing, but he knows she won’t find either. He knows because he’s looking at her the way he’s only ever allowed himself to do when she’s not looking or too preoccupied to notice. Like she’s the one light in the continuous darkness of the world. Like she’s all he needs to keep going. 

Clarke lets out another breath, this one shaky in its relief. That new, wonderful smile returns to her face -tentative but no less bright- as her hand creeps to the back of his neck, holding him close.

Bellamy is vaguely aware that they’re sitting in a cave grinning like idiots in the middle of a rainy night. And while he’s sure there will be many things that await them come morning, for once he lets go of those thoughts and focuses only on the girl in front of him, smiling so hard he thinks his jaw will ache later.

His hand rests in the crook of her neck, feeling her pulse trip wildly under his thumb as she leans closer. He’s so focused on holding still and memorizing everything about the moment that he nearly misses her soft statement.

“This better not still be a dream.”

Bellamy’s still laughing when her mouth collides with his. 

In the morning, Clarke tentatively fingers the dark, raised spot on her collarbone before fixing him with a piercing look. Bellamy only shrugs, unfazed as he drops a kiss to her shoulder.

“Thought you’d want a reminder that this wasn’t a dream,” he grins.

The smile crosses her face too quickly for her to stop it.

~~~~~~~~~

_And hey_  
 _I can't believe I captured your heart_  
 _Oh whoa oh_  
 _I can't believe I captured your heart_


End file.
